This picture was taken in 1963 or 1964 in Philadelphia. I remember our old Dodge well; the round lights and fins in the back, the ridiculously busy grille in front. However, over the years I’ve never been sure whether it was a Dart, Polara, Monaco… maybe some of you can help me pin it down. It now appears to me to be a Dart, as the leading edge of the right rear fin (I think) would be visible if it was one of the true full-size models. However, it seems that the Dart side trim had a scallop on the rear door that is missing here (The base Seneca didn’t, and this is what this appears to be-Ed)

I remember well the moment this picture was taken, even though I was only three or four. For some reason, I was dressed in a bow tie and jacket. I must have thought this would be a good outfit in which to cruise the neighborhood for chicks. But after a fruitless ride it was time to put my wheels away. As I pushed the trike down the driveway, I scrapped the door of the Dodge with the handlebar. I knew my dad would kill me if he saw the black scuff, and sure enough he immediately stormed out the front door. But instead of yelling at me, he snapped this picture. I gotta admit I look kinda cute, if frightened.

I did the black bike handgrip scuff on the side of Mrs. Bordner’s beige 66 GTO. She was not at all happy.

Earlier, some friends and decided to search for buried treasure in the yard. You really need a treasure map to do that properly, so I found a green permanent marker and drew one on the white door of my father’s 63 Bel Air wagon. I don’t think it ever came all the way out.

Speaking of experiments when we were younger.
My older brother and I experimented how long we could each hold down the accelerator on my Dad’s 1955 New Yorker.
Back story being it was January, and he left the car running for us while he ran into the store.
Suffice it to say when Dad came out of the store neither my brother or I were winners of that experiment…

A neighbor kid put a Jart through the front windshield of his dad’s almost new Caprice Classic. Of course, it started raining a few minutes later. It was dad’s work car, and he wasn’t happy at all. I can remember him coming out of the house in his usual weekend outfit: wife beater T-shirt, brown or black shorts, knee high black socks, and sandals, and trying to put plastic over the hole to keep the water out. He was a little chimpish looking guy, and his life was run by his wife, one of the most evil adults I had met up to that point in my life (She beat the hell out of her sons). They had 7 kids, and with each one, they wore more and more worthless, probably due to mom. Most of them were drunks, and mean ones. They always had only two cars, even after their kids had their licenses, a big Chevy, and when I first met them, a Nova. As the 70’s went by, one of the kids crashed the Nova (yes, he was drunk at 17), and it was replaced by a Vega for about 2 years, then it was gone, and a Toyota Carolla took it’s place. She only drove Toyotas from that point on, the last being a late 80’s Camry. She dropped dead playing golf about 1990, but hubby is still around, remarried, and past 90, he doesn’t drive anymore, but his slightly younger wife just bought her “last car” a Chevy Impala.

When I was young and washed my parents car I came up with the brilliant idea to wash out the inside of the exhaust system. I stuck the hose and nozzle in the tail pipe and left it there until the water running back out turned clear. My poor parents were frequently replacing rusted out mufflers.